


The Many Mischievous Happenings of Hogwarts Castle: As documented by Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

by Bring_me_home_please



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bring_me_home_please/pseuds/Bring_me_home_please
Summary: ‘As many stories often begin, this one starts with two children with big potential in a world too small for them. In this case, two boys. Born of two worlds, fated to be bound by something deeper than blood.’- a very dramatic Sherlock Holmes (You love it and now you’re on the chair tonigh- SH)
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the co-written documentation of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson-Holmes in their times as young students of Hogwarts, long before they were the legendary crime solving duo of 221B!- JWH
> 
> Please refrain from referring to our younger selves in that sense, at least not in front of Rosamund- SH

As many stories often begin, this one starts with two children with big potential in a world too small for them. In this case, two boys. Born of two worlds, fated to be bound by something deeper than blood. These are the many adventures of the famous consulting wizard detectives, more specifically their adventures in Hogwarts Castle.

***

May 15th 1999.

Mr and Mrs Watson were quite the normally perceived couple. They lived in a smallish house in a cul-da-sac in Birmingham no one would bother to visit. The youngest child left in the house was their boy, John. They had a daughter but she was staying over at a friend’s place. He was a nine year old with a considerable amount of natural extra muscle than the other boys so he made friends easily and he never got into any sort of deep trouble either. A few rumbles and scrapes but nothing too bad.

Well, that was until today.

He came bursting through his parent’s door, frightened and panicked. 

“MUM! DAD! WHERE ARE YOU?!?!”

They came running in to the cries of distress.

“Are you bein’ chased, lad?!”

“What’s happened?!”

With a shaky hand, he pointed to the window. “Look outside. I mean it.”

The parents gave each other a skeptical look and ventured to the window to see what John had meant. They couldn’t believe what they saw. In their neighbourhood, there was a roundabout that was covered in lush grass and tall trees for the children to enjoy. Probably one of the second tallest trees there was now a tree with leaves of fire.“I just got really mad at Martin for kicking the ball at the car and I yelled at him and then the tree caught on fire! It sounds mad but I promise, I saw it with my own two eyes!” His father looked to his mother with bright eyes and a small smirk. His mother sighed. “John, I completely understand. I know what’s going on.” John looked to his mother, rather confused. “R-really? What’s going on, then?”

His mother led him to the couch to sit down. “You’ll be needing a sit down for this. Lord knows, I did. John, you remember when Harry turned eleven and we, uh, sent her off to boarding school right?” John nodded shakily. “It’s true, we shipped her off to a very special school but you don’t know what for, do you?” John shook his head. “Well John, what you just did with the tree out there, that’s a sign that you are magical. You’re a young wizard John Watson. From the start of the school year, you’ll be learning at the best school for magic in entire world. Hogwarts.” His father and mother couldn’t help but snicker as John sank down and off the sofa and onto the floor. John bolted up from off the floor and pointed to his mother. “LIAR! NO! No I’m not, am I?” Through her impossibly wide smile she nodded yes and her son began to celebrate around the living roomas his mother and father observe from afar. “He’s gonna be alright with it then?”

“Alright with what? Magic?”

The father nodded.

“Yeah. He should do. Why’d you ask?” His father sighed and took a free seat on the couch. “Harry didn’t take losing this world well. She was happy here and didn’t want to leave it behind. What if it’s like that with John? What if he forgets where he comes from? What if he-“ unbeknownst to him due to his ramblings, his wife had taken a seat next to him and had taken his hands into her own. “I promise love. John will be fine. He’s got the world ahead of him and he’s a smart lad. He’ll be great. Don’t stress it love.”

He nods in welcomed understanding and lays his head on his wife’s shoulder.

***

The same day that afternoon played out rather differently in a very much different part of the world. The Holmes family were at their dinner table and politely enjoying the lunch prepared by their house elf staff, as Sherlock’s chosen instrument played in the background. 

It was his turn. He knew that Mycroft despised the sound of a mandolin, says the pitch is awful.

Half way through the silent meal, Mrs Holmes called the attention of her boys. 

“Mycroft, you’re going back to school the coming September for your third year and Sherlock will be starting his first year at Hogwarts along side you. I expect you, Mycroft, to look out for your brother as much as you can. Oh and Sherlock do try and stay out of trouble the first day. It will be unbecoming of yourself if you refuse to take heed of this.”

“Yes mother.” The boys replied in unison.

“At June’s midst, we will start on the shopping seeing as both of you boys are in need of more school supplies since you both have used up all of your fountain pens.” The boys let out a disgruntled groan at the announcement. “Mother with all due respect, I have much better things to be worrying about. I have to discuss some school council ideas with Lestrade and I’m not sure I will be able to accompany you when we are doing back-to-school shopping. You can go alone with my brother and you’ll have the list with you.” From under his breath, Sherlock muttered. “Kiss-up.” To which Mycroft muttered back a fully meant insult. “Anyways, I will only be going for my wand and robes. You can handle the rest, I’m assured?”

“Sherlock, you and Mycroft won’t associate here so I doubt Hogwarts will hold any difference and I want you both to associate with each other just this once for your wand choosing, for the sake of family tradition. Alright?”

The boys looked at each other. They really didn’t like the sound of the proposition, but then again who were they to refuse their mother?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John begins his experience in the world of magic and meets one of his mother’s old hogwarts companions, which brings him to meet a companion of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You remember this Sherlock? You took the lead on this chapter, needed to make it as perfect as you possibly could you said?- JWH
> 
> While I don’t tend to linger on such minute sentiments like this, as ridiculous as it sounds, I like to romanticise our first meeting. It’s still a rather sensitive cherished memory. - SH
> 
> Ö This may make the headlines folks, Sherlock Holmes has s e n t i m e n t- JWH
> 
> ... - SH

In the days to follow, John would have the pleasure of meeting one of his mother’s oldest friends from Hogwarts. Her mother’s old quidditch captain and now quidditch coach, Ramona Flagg. She was rather confused as to wherever she apparated (John’s rather large back garden) and even more surprised to see John speeding away from her, absolutely terrified. After a joyous reunion between Ramona and his mother, she explained what Ramona was here for. After receiving more details of the new fantastic world of magic, he couldn’t wait to learn more about it. 

Sherlock on the other hand was unbothered by the knocking at his window and let the owl in, believing that it was his delivery of Romanian eel slime and Hungarian Horntail spit he needed for an experiment. As disappointed as he was, the letter did come much sooner than anticipated. He set his house elf Mimsy on the job of packing his things for the coming school year.

Soon came the time for back to school shopping for all Hogwarts students. John’s mouth gaped at the sight of all the shops and the people in ‘wizard-wear’ as John called it. He soon kept becoming more and more excited as he studied the passing shops and look on curiously at the many various contraptions he’d never before seen. (Quite rightly so, he grew up in quite the small town world)

Then came the time to get fitted for his uniform. The first item on his back to school shopping list. He entered the seemingly ageless shop of Madam Malkins and at the door, they were greeted by an ageing, squat woman in magenta robes. Madam Malkin herself. Right as John was going to introduce himself, she interjected. “Hogwarts dearie?” He nodded. “Lovely then! Just head to the back and find a stool, I’ve got a few more children to tend to, so please, just wait there with the other young man in the back.” John nodded nervously and looked to his smiling mother. He passed through the curtain and took his stand at the stool as the woman passed a black robe over his head and pinned it to his measurements. The boy who stood next to him was being fitted by another person but he looked rather disinterested with the whole affair. His face was pale and strongly angled. His eyes were a cold and piercing blue-grey like a winter’s sky that seemed to cast a relative disdain for being here. Without turning his head to John, he spoke.

“So where was your military camp? Somerset or Northumberland?” 

John turned to him, utterly baffled. “I-I’m sorry?” The boy gave him a side eye. “Somerset or Northumberland. Tan lines stop at your wrist, no one actively goes to a beach in a button up so you’ve been in the countryside. There’s excessive weight on your shoulders from months in army-like routine which makes you rather heavy footed, judging from the heaviness of your entering footsteps, so it wasn’t exactly a summer of relaxation for you. You also have an excessive build up of muscle that’s been put on from training, giving you athletic prowess but it also ensures your discomfort of remaining in a single place and position which causes your habit of tapping your feet. The reason you don’t fidget with your hands is because you still retain your habit of keeping your hands firmly at your sides in a stand still. Both Somerset and Northumberland faced particularly hot summers, hot enough that people were often outside, morethan usual. So where? Somerset or Northumberland?” John’s bafflement was now justified. He’d only just come in and this genius had just figured out where he was over the summer and given evidence. “J-Junior Northumberland Fusiliers. H-how did you know? I haven’t even introduced myself!” The boy just chuckled. “I don’t know. I noticed. Noticing certain details, bits of a puzzle that would fit into a greater picture.” He turned to the gaping boy. “Now who are you?” John blinked at him a bit before turning to face the other. “John. John Watson. What’s your name?” The boy returned the gesture and paused for a moment to lock John’s eyes to his. “Sherlock Holmes. Pleasure.” This began their very first conversation and throughout the fitting, they both agree- even now, meeting the other was the best part of John’s first experience of Diagon Alley. After they were adequately fitted to their soon-to-be uniforms, they were brought out to show their parents their new attire. “Oh my god!! John look at you, looking like a real hogwarts student in that! Suits you well, I’d think.” Ramona chuckled. “Certainly takes me back to when I was your age. Oh hang on-“ Ramona turned to face Sherlock. “This someone you met John?” 

“Oh, um, yeah. This is Sherlock, we met in the fitting room.” His mother and Ramona shared a look with each other. “Sherlock? What’s your last name?” Sherlock gave them a curious look before answering. “Holmes. Why?” Ramona and Lena’s eyes lit up suddenly as they explained to the boys how they used to know Sherlock’s mother when they were at hogwarts. Sherlock states this as obvious seeing as he identified the ages of the two of them and put together that they weren’t too far from his mother’s own age. From then on they went on shopping in the alley together as a small tight-knit troupe of shoppers. Exploring ‘Flourish and Blotts’ for spell books and scouring the shelves filled with books of the newly updated curses and hexes for school children, although Sherlock was pretty comfortable with the adult version (much more graphic). John gaped curiously at jars of potion ingredients as Sherlock talked astutely about potential uses for unicorn horns and beetles eyes. Sherlock and John fascinated themselves with galaxy telescopes that showed the stars even in brightest hours of day and Ramona practically had to drag the two away from them so they could move on. By the time the shopping was almost completed, their bags floated around them; held by Ramona’s impressive levitation charm. The last they had left on the list were wands. On their way to Ollivander’s a familiar face of Sherlock’s appears in the crowd. “Ah! There you, Sherlock dear! Mycroft was just about to-“ Sherlock’s mother paused and stood in near shock. “Lena? Lena Mayroad? Is that you dear girl?!” Mrs Watson split into a grin and charged at her. “Astraea Holmes, as I live and breathe! Come here!” The two women embraced as their children looked on in mutual confusion. “Ah yes. Them two were close in hogwarts. Thick as thieves they were! Never found without the other, or if you did one was looking for the other.” The two women giggled as Ramona recounted their hogwarts years. “Rae, maybe we should take both our boys wand shopping? You seem to have quite a little genius here! Proper inquisitive, he is!” Astraea snickers. “A splendid idea Lena. Let’s make haste! We have lots to catch up on! You don’t mind if Mycroft tags along, do you?” Lena offered her arm as Astraea took the gesture gracefully. “Well of course not! Haven’t seen him since I was pregnant with Harriet!” The two women linked arms and the boys followed behind the two accompanied by a snickering Ramona whilst talking amongst themselves until they reached it. The legendary store. Ollivander’s. The greatest provider of wands since 382 bc, according to the newly replaced and polished sign. The families entered through the door as Ramona wandered off to complete some shopping of her own. John and Sherlock looked around the store in search of life (though John was more so fascinated at the ageing towers of wands and the air of mystery that the store seemed to emanate) when from the shelves out slinked a tall, thin young man with golden toned skin but with patches of white that splattered him like splotches of fine paint. His eyes were curious and glassy in a shade greyish green-blue and framed with silver wire spectacles. 

“Greetings all. I am Geremiah Ollivander, I will be helping you find your wands today.” Came an aloof voice, thick with whimsy. Cool eyes drifted to the two boys at the counter who stared at him rather curiously. “Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, yes? I have been expecting you. Who would wish to go first?” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s wand choosing

John stepped up with a bounce in his step. This was the moment he had been waiting for through the entire trip. “I-I would!” Geremiah smiled and eyed him carefully. “Wait here, I will be fetching options.” With that, the man was gone. Disappeared into the shelves as John looked on nervously to his mother, “Don’t you worry love, it’s not as boring as you think once you get started!” Called his mother. Astraea eyed his mother teasingly which his mother snickered at with feigned offence. Geremiah returned dutifully with plenty of different potential magical soulmates. "First off, which hand do you write with young Watson?” John awkwardly raised his right hand. He was handed a richly toned brown wand that had hints of auburn. “First off, dogwood with unicorn hair. 6.3 inches. Playful with a mischievous undertone, fairly flexible with a strong pluck. Just give it a wave, would you?” With a flick of his wrist, the wand went shooting from his hand and bounced off of the window and soaring back to Geremiah; leaving John shocked scared and pretty nervous. “Ah. Thought so. Moving on, then. Don’t worry about the damage, young Watson, the wands may be as expressive as they like choosing their owner and I have been very well equipped to deal with it as such.”  
“H-how’d you know I was nervous about that?”  
Geremiah gave him a simple smile. “I didn’t.” John looked to Sherlock incredulously who was very much enjoying himself by watching the man work. “Enjoying this are you?” Sherlock glanced over with a cocked brow. “What? He’s intelligent and you’re an idiot, regardless if he is rather solely faceted. It’s very entertaining.” John gawked at him. “Oh don’t be like that practically everyone is, as a pathetic sole human virtue, an idiot by default. He’s decent though. A bit one sided but regardless.” Before John could argue, he was handed a darker wand with more intricacies at the handle. “Fir with phoenix feather. 7.4 inches. Powerful but picky that has a particular sense for the strong minded. Try it.” John gulped. A wave of his hand sent it rocketing to the ceiling only to be stopped by Geremiah. “Alright then careful, no need to throw a tantrum.” Geremiah muttered, seemingly scolding the wand. “Anyhow moving on.”   
His mother stepped to John’s shoulder and comfortingly placed her gentle hand on it. “Don’t you worry John. My wand didn’t choose me until my fifth go. This is fine. Just let it happen.” John let out a sigh of relief and gave his mother a look of relief. Another wand was handed.  
“Hazel with unicorn hair. Emotional with a strong sense of loyalty. Precisely six inches.” John’s eyes widened in concern as the wand seemed to shoot away and into his other hand. Geremiah retook the wand and a thoughtful look. Geremiah’s eyes widened at his own epiphany. “I-If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I need to fetch something!” He juried off to the back leaving John looking on in confusion. “T-this is...” John sputtered in confusion. Sherlock cut in. “You’re not used to it are you? You aren’t used to magic. I think you’ll find the eccentricities of magic will be plentiful and this is only the start of it. In muggle's terms, get used to it.” John gave him a look. “You know, some would say that you come off as kind of rude.” Sherlock scoffed. “As I’ve been told. And what do you think?” John gave him a smile. “Maybe a little bit. But if I’m quite honest, you do seem pretty cool to be around.” Before Sherlock could answer, in enters Geremiah. He holds a wand that looks glossy and new with winding and wandering shades of lighter and darker hues of brown. “Alright young Watson. I have been saving this one wand for a very unique occasion. For a very specific person. I.. I think you may just be what I need.” John takes the wand into his hand and instantly he feels different. This wand feels like it fits. The certain grip. The feel of it. John couldn’t put it into words. It just felt... right. At the flick of his wrist, he feels his feet lift from the floor and there’s a bright light. When his feet touch the ground, he feels like the world has stopped. The smile on his face couldn’t be brighter or wider.  
“It’s a hybrid isn’t it? Two different wand woods bound together and sharing a core.” Astraea added from her seat, still rather amused at the display. “Ingenious.. of course it’s double the wand wood deficiencies but even so it still has great potential for certain individuals.” Sherlock muttered.   
“Indeed! Even for such a meagre experiment, the results are entirely unprecedented! I’ll have to note this down for later; as for you mister Watson, I believe you’ve found your match.” John’s mum came up to pay for the wand and before she was about to leave and bid her farewells, John stopped her. “I want to see what Sherlock gets. I-It’s gotta be interesting.” John’s mum chuckles and retakes her seat. “Quite the show you put on, John!” His mother then snickered before ruffling the boy’s hair “About scared me half to death lad! Looked damn terrifying from what I saw, blimey.” The Watson’s chuckled before Lena turned over to Astraea. “How do you think your boy’ll do with his wand? Seems awfully bright for his age, that just a thing with you Holmes’s?” Astraea giggled.  
“Well I’d certainly say so. If you think your son packed performance- then welcome to the main act, Lena dear.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock’s wand choosing

“Now Mister Holmes. I remember watching your mother’s wand choosing. It was quite the spectacle, if I remember correctly.”   
Sherlock lifted his head up in a way the commanded respect. 

(Well, maybe as a fully grown adult, but both John and Sherlock agree now it may have looked kind of stupid).

“Blood is no way to determine the sorting of a person’s wand.” Geremiah smirked. “Quite so. I’ll back to fetch you opt-“ he was interrupted by an interjection from Sherlock. “If you would allow me to try something, first. I have looked into a form of ancient wand choosing practice that I’d like to experiment with.” Geremiah eyed him curiously and stepped aside with a smile. “Be my guest, Mr Holmes.” Sherlock stepped back from the desk, screwed his eyes shut and began to concentrate. His wand-hand was flat and he started to mumble something that John didn’t quite understand. “Kjo është një thirrje nga një djalë me zgjedhje. Unë kam ardhur në moshë dhe jam i përgatitur të filloj praktikën time. Toka tani mund të zgjedhë mjetet e mia të tregtisë siç ka bërë për mijëra para meje.” He opened his eyes which began to glow blue and a single wand floated slowly into his hand- emitting the same blue hue, then the glowing stopped in his eyes and wand. His eyes shut then reopened to his usual blue-grey, where he was greeted by a deafening silence. John and his mother were utterly gobsmacked, jaws on the floor, eyes completely fixed on what had just been accomplished. Astraea smirked proudly at her son, knowing the lengths he’d went to to practice this. While Mycroft was seemingly unbothered, he had to give credit where credit was due- that was spectacular (if a bit overly dramatic, though he found it rather befitting to his younger brother). Even Geremiah was impressed, no one this young had ever perfected such an old form of wand choosing- much less even knew of it’s existence. Sherlock looked around at the gawking faces. “What? It’s Albanian. It wasn’t too hard to learn. Only took me three weeks, much to my chagrin.”

“Well then, give it a wave Mr Holmes. Let’s see if your effort was worth those three weeks.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but gave his wand a small flick then his hand tightened around the wand in a firm grip as blue spokes appeared on the wand and his arm as his hair lifted off his shoulders. A blue and purple mist emitted from the tip of the wand with a small hiss that filled the store strangely with a soft scent of lavender. The blue spokes faded from the wand and Sherlock’s arm and he smirked proudly. “Maybe there was some truth to your statement Geremiah. Maybe Holmes’s are known for a certain flair of the dramatic.” Just as he was walking towards his mother, John darted to the front of him- still completely breathless from the display-to blurt out a, now admittedly indignant. “WH-HOW DID-WHAT WAS  THAT ?!?!” He exclaimed, flailing his arms wildly in reference to the rather fantastical sight. Sherlock quirked his eyebrow at the flabbergasted blond. “Didn’t you hear, it’s Albanian. I only just became fluent three weeks ago.”

“Not to mention the few grammatical errors in your little parlour trick.” Mycroft muttered as the group of them left the small shop with their new wands of their own. “Mycroft had Albanian memorised in thirty minutes. He’s always been the, quote, ‘smarter’ brother.” Mycroft scoffed. “Which I am and always will be.” Sherlock glared at him. “Times change Mycroft.” 

“And I shall change along with them.”

“And participate in the legwork? Well they do say it’s good for you and you need it.” Mycroft grew stony and the younger’s impertinence while Sherlock flashed him an arrogant grin. John looked on, confused as ever at the two Holmes boys. “Oh don’t fret John, just sibling bickering. Isn’t that what normal siblings do?” Sherlock cocked his head. “You know? That mouth of yours could get you hurt.”

“I know.”

“Well then, as your new friend, I’ll try and stop it from happening, yeah? I’ll be looking out for you, from now on!” 

At the statement, Mycroft nearly choked on his own tongue. Astraea stilled for the moment. Sherlock, however, quirked his eyebrows at the blond. No one had ever willingly wanted to be his friend before, not without payment. 

“No one really asks to be my friend.”

“Don’t they? You seem nice to me. You’re well clever too! You may say some stuff that hurts people but, I guess they may just have to stuff it!” John giggled out. Then, for the first time since Christmas when Uncle Eustace was chased throughout their garden maze by doxies set upon him by Sherlock’s cousins (he came as an accomplice for research purposes), he laughed. He didn’t laugh out of mockery. Not out of obligation. Just pure genuine laughter.

“Rae?”

“Hm?”

“Were we ever like that? Like them two at the back?” Astraea smiled. “I should think so, Lena.” She paused thoughtfully. “I haven’t heard him laugh since Christmas. John is also possessed of a rare gift, it would seem.” Lena turned to her friend. “I never told you his-“ she paused for a moment then sighed. “Know what? Never mind. You probably knew that.” Astraea smiled. “I didn’t know Lena. I simply observed.” Lena smiled warmer still to her friend. “How did I forget? It’s the observation. That’s what makes you so special, Mrs Holmes.”

“Indeed, Lena dear.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s wand is chosen by Ollivander’s new owner and the results leave everyone at least a little bit impressed with the whole affair

John stepped up with a bounce in his step. This was the moment he had been waiting for through the entire trip. “I-I would!” Geremiah smiled and eyed him carefully. “Wait here, I will be fetching options.” With that, the man was gone. Disappeared into the shelves as John looked on nervously to his mother, “Don’t you worry love, it’s not as boringas you think once you get started!” Called his mother. Astraea eyed his mother teasingly which his mother snickered at with feigned offence. Geremiah returned dutifully with plenty of different potential magical soulmates. "First off, which hand do you write with young Watson?” John awkwardly raised his right hand. He was handed a richly toned brown wand that had hints of auburn. “First off, dogwood with unicorn hair. 6.3 inches. Playful with a mischievous undertone, fairly flexible with a strong pluck. Just give it a wave, would you?” With a flick of his wrist, the wand went shooting from his hand and bounced off of the window and soaring back to Geremiah; leaving John shocked scared and pretty nervous. “Ah. Thought so. Moving on, then. Don’t worry about the damage, young Watson, the wands may be as expressive as they like choosing their owner and I have been very well equipped to deal with it as such.”

“H-how’d you know I was nervous about that?”

Geremiah gave him a simple smile. “I didn’t.” John looked to Sherlock incredulously who was very much enjoying himself by watching the man work. “Enjoying this are you?” Sherlock glanced over with a cocked brow. “What? He’s intelligent and you’re an idiot, regardless if he is rather solely faceted. It’s very entertaining.” John gawked at him. “Oh don’t be like that practically everyone is, as a pathetic sole human virtue, an idiot by default. He’s decent though. A bit one sided but regardless.” Before John could argue, he was handed a darker wand with more intricacies at the handle. “Fir with phoenix feather. 7.4 inches. Powerful but picky that has a particular sense for the strong minded. Try it.” John gulped. A wave of his hand sent it rocketing to the ceiling only to be stopped by Geremiah. “Alright then careful, no need to throw a tantrum.” Geremiah muttered, seemingly scolding the wand. “Anyhow moving on.” His mother stepped to John’s shoulder and comfortingly placed her gentle hand on it. “Don’t you worry John. My wand didn’t choose me until my fifth go. This is fine. Just let it happen.” John let out a sigh of relief and gave his mother a look of relief. Another wand was handed. “Hazel with unicorn hair. Emotional with a strong sense of loyalty. Precisely six inches.” John’s eyes widened in concern as the wand seemed to shoot away and into his other hand. Geremiah retook the wand and a thoughtful look. Geremiah’s eyes widened at his own epiphany. “I-If you’ll excuse me for just a moment, I need to fetch something!” He juried off to the back leaving John looking on in confusion. “T-this is...” John sputtered in confusion. Sherlock cut in. “You’re not used to it are you? You aren’t used to magic. I think you’ll find the eccentricities of magic will be plentiful and this is only the start of it. In muggle's terms, get used to it.” John gave him a look. “You know, some would say that you come off as kind of rude.” Sherlock scoffed. “As I’ve been told. And what do you think?” John gave him a smile. “Maybe a little bit. But if I’m quite honest, you do seem pretty cool to be around.” Before Sherlock could answer, in enters Geremiah. He holds a wand that looks glossy and new with winding and wandering shades of lighter and darker hues of brown. “Alright young Watson. I have been saving this one wand for a very unique occasion. For a very specific person. I.. I think you may just be what I need.” John takes the wand into his hand and instantly he feels different. This wand feels like it fits. The certain grip. The feel of it. John couldn’t put it into words. It just felt... right. At the flick of his wrist, he feels his feet lift from the floor and there’s a bright light. When his feet touch the ground, he feels like the world has stopped. The smile on his face couldn’t be brighter or wider. “I-It’s a hybrid isn’t it? Two different wand woods bound together and sharing a core.” John’s mother sputtered from her seat, still rather aghast at the display. “Ingenious.. of course it’s double the wand wood deficiencies but even so it still has great potential for certain individuals.” Sherlock muttered. “Indeed! Even for such a meagre experiment, the results are entirely unprecedented! I’ll have to note this down for later; as for you mister Watson, I believe you’ve found your match.” John’s mum came up to pay for the wand and before she was about to leave and bid her farewells, John stopped her. “I want to see what Sherlock gets. I-It’s gotta be interesting.” John’s mum chuckles and retakes her seat. “Quite the show you put on, John!” His mother then snickered before ruffling the boy’s hair “About scared me half to death lad! Looked damn terrifying from what I saw, blimey.” The Watson’s chuckled before Lena turned over to Astraea. “How do you think your boy’ll do with his wand? Seems awfully bright for his age, that just a thing with you Holmes’s?” Astraea giggled. “Well I’d certainly say so. If you think your son packed performance- then welcome to the main act, Lena dear.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shenanigans of Sherlock Holmes being bored on the Hogwarts Express and John being astonished by the brilliance of his eccentrically intelligent friend

John eventually found Sherlock-once again-far ahead of him, practically power walking through the train, searching through the locomotive looking for a void compartment. “There you are, took you long enough.”  
John rubbed the back of his neck nervously as his pace hastily came to match his friend’s, only stumbling a couple times out of exhaustion. “Yeah sorry mate, had to say bye to mum’s all.” 

“But that’s not all is it?”

“Um sorry, but uh, what do you mean?”

“My mother was speaking to you so what was she saying?”

“Oh, um, right, she was just asking me to look out for you is all.”

“Ugh..”

“What do you mean ‘ugh’? That’s your mum you’re talking about!”

“She carries something called sentiment. I find it sickening.”

“Sherlock we’re eleven years old for gods sake, how can you say something like that?” He apparently stopped to scoff at John. “You could pose a different question, John. Quote: ‘Sherlock, we’re eleven years old for gods sake, how can you have possibly known that this was one of the last four compartments that was perfectly devoid of people that could be potentially annoying?’” Sherlock then slid open the door to reveal nothing and the chatter of people here wasn’t painfully loud. “Y-You know what, I would like to know the answer t-to that.” 

“After we sit down of course?”

“Y-yeah.”

The boys came to sit down comfortably in the train seats as Sherlock began his explanation.

“You see, I decided to do a bit of digging a while back for possible blue prints of the Hogwarts Express so I don’t have to deal with dull minded simpletons who wish to associate with me. Mycroft hates it, I hate it, it runs in the family. Anyway so, the search turns out was rather unsuccessful but I found a few images of the locomotive in some family photos, specifically from my mother. She used to enjoy photography but gave it up since she began to find it dull. Then it was just a matter of counting the number of people in each of the compartments and find the few that little to no students in the photos. I came up with four possible spaces I could use. However, I couldn’t know for sure until I saw the train in person and studied it closely. Which is why I asked to go see Mycroft off for his second year.” John looked a bit puzzled at the statement. “But you hate your brother?” 

“Yes, exactly, it does seem painfully obvious looking back. However I got what I wanted and what I got was a visual of the train to prove my theory right. Now that I had what I wanted, I could just simply wait until this day arrived and enjoy a peaceful first train ride to Hogwarts on my own. However,” his eyes narrowed playfully at the slack jawed boy, gawking at his intricate statement and method. “I met you.” John chuckled in astonishment. “That... That was...” John enacted an explosion from his head in exasperation. “That was incredible.” 

“You think so? Truly?”

“W-Well yeah! Not every day you find out your new friend is a bloody genius, now is it?!” 

“Well, that’s the best reception I’ve gotten for one of my deductions.”

“Well, what do they usually say then?”

“Piss off.” 

The two had a laugh for a bit and began to settle down with banter before John posed something new to his friend.

“Wait, hang on.”

“What?”

“There’s one thing I don’t get. Why is no one coming in here? It seems like a perfectly fine compartment to me.” Sherlock hummed.

“Why should it matter? It’s not beneficial.”  


“But, uh, it could be fun?” Sherlock quirked his eyebrow and gave a slight hum. 

“Um, sorry, I’ll shut up.”

“No, you know what? You’re right. I’m bored and I want to know why no one’s scouted this compartment, I can delete it later. Save the emotional instability John. Start from your side, swap to my side then the middle.” 

After a few sputtered attempts at a response, John shrugged and joined in. He look around high to low and then swapped sides with Sherlock. 

“Anything?”

“Nothing, Watson.”

“Since when do you call me by my last name?”

“Since now, keep looking!”

So they searched thoroughly through the entire compartment and met in the middle with no conclusive results of why the compartment had been abandoned. 

“Well I found nothing on my side. Only some litter, the seat wood is a bit burntbut that could’ve been from anything. Honestly I thought I’d slip off, the seat seems really loose.”

“Seems it’s the same for my side. Nothing majorly important so honestly I’m thinking this was a waste of- Wait, what did you say?”

“Wait, loose seats?”

“Yes, those.”

There was a pause as John slowly began to connect the dots until it finally hit him.

“Oh!! That!!”

“Care to find out, Watson?”

“Um, yeah?!”

The two hurried over to John’s seat and lifted up the cushions to reveal a wild array of carvings left by the students who came before. Some were arbitrary names, normal people who never held too much importance. Then there some like ‘Padfoot’ and ‘Prongs’- ‘Moony’ and ‘Wormtail’. All of them under the highest most inscription on ‘The Best of Hogwarts’s Finest’. 

“Fascinating...” he trailed off.

“These are really old. You think these are why people don’t come here?”

“Unlikely, seeing as there’s so many of them, but it was an interesting find.”

“Yeah, true.”

As they two put back the cushion, their conversation began again.

“So you’ve said that you delete stuff in your head right? How’s that work?” Sherlock paused for a moment, as if mentally piecing together how he should word his sentence in a way that should make sense. “Think of your mind like an attic John. You primarily use attics to store what you need, whatever you deem important. An ordinary man will fill his attic with any sort of lumber, trinket and bobble he comes across. This effectively leads to him never being able to find the useful information to solve predicaments he could’ve avoided had he possessed the knowledge he has but can’t find because his head is so full of useless information that he really doesn’t need. Do you understand so far?” John nods even with the cogs still whirring up in his head but still eager to know how his friend thinks. “That’ll do. Of course, you can have as much information in your head and have it organised to the point where it’s like a spiralling library. A downside being that there’s so much knowledge that you can never find it straight away and you have to keep looking through endless shelves until you find what you need. Takes up too much time and I found it rather impractical,in my experience but intelligent people have their own processes that support their method of thinking . I figured outlikely the most effective way to remember all the most important information I need. I store my most important tidbits in a meticulous form of sequence and it then branches out into a big conglomerate, which I call a mind palace. Whenever I’m in need to search for certain specific forms of information, I simply have to enter my mind palace and sort through the ‘rooms’ so then I will usually come up with the answer. Once that specific ‘room’ of the mind palace is of no use to me, I collapse itand it never interferes the sequence where it doesn’t need to.” John let out an exasperated chuckle. “You really are something else, Sherlock. Extraordinary, really.”

“You know you do that out loud, don’t you Watson?” Sherlock quirked his eyebrow up at his exasperated but astonished friend. 

“Oh sorry, I’ll shut up.”

“No, don’t, it’s...it’s alright.”

The two of them stared at each other for a bit and started laughing at the absurdity of it all. Sherlock had a palace in his mind that could hold every important piece of information and could successfully delete useless information , John sat right in front of him and complement him because he was at a complete and utter loss for what to say otherwise. 

What an absurd friendship John had gotten himself into. If he was being honest, he did quite like the company of the ever remarkable Sherlock Holmes.

The door slid open, 

“Anything off the trolley, dears?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival into their new residence

Two boys sit across from each other in The Hogwarts Express. Night had fallen on the train tracks to the castle and the excitement in the air was impossible to ignore. One side has wrappers of wizard sweets and chocolate frog cards scattered about. The other side is pristine with only a neatly stacked pile of sweet wrappers of an extensive variety at the very end. Both boys are dressed in their unmarked uniforms for Hogwarts and laughing at one of Sherlock’s stories from childhood when the train comes to a stop and a loud whistle echoes throughout the cabin. “Guess we gotta get off now. Is it weird that I’m nervous?”   
“First off, obviously. Second, certainly not. The world of magic is still fairly new to you and being put into a new environment, especially one that highly revolves around magic, enacts the natural instinct of unease. It’s simple human nature.”   
“Well I’m glad I’ve got someone who’ll give me a smart answer. God knows, I’ve got plenty of questions needing them.”

The two of them followed the crowds of first years rushing to the doors, eager to see the legendary Hogwarts castle. They were filed into a line by a whistleblowing, short, plump woman with a wild mess of blonde curls held back by a purple headband who wore the shimmering instrument around her neck. Her face was kind and gentle, her smile was wide with genuine excitement as well as her deeply hued blue eyes. She wore a brown coat with gold buttons and brown boots likely made from the same material, however if you squinted you’d notice the hidden glimmers of her robe under the massive coat.

“Velcome students!” She announced through a deep Hungarian accent. “I’m Gertrude Van Dahl and I am Groundskeeper of Hogwarts. I vould like to velcome you to Hogwarts School of Vitchcraft and Vizardry, your new home and sanctuary for those who may need it. Now if the first years vould follow me to the docks, all otha year groups may follow ze path leading to ze Hogwarts carriages.” She promptly turned around and signalled the gaggle of excited first years to follow her onwards towards the docks.   
“Well she’s a real character, Sherlock. She’s... excited.”   
“She’s fairly new here. Not just to Hogwarts but to England.”   
“Well yeah, she has an accent, but I think she cares a lot about her job. What do you reckon?”   
“Oh certainly, well spotted Watson. She’s just moved from America because of her accent not having any traces of British influence but she’s also an immigrant from Hungary.”   
“As sharp as a needle, like always Sherlock. You think she has a kid at Hogwarts? She seemed really happy to care for us.”   
“That may be the reason why she’s so obviously fond of us. Her pupils dilated significantly when she saw us. Her son is probably getting older and she holds onto the nostalgia of his youth because she refuses to let go.”   
“Son? Sure it’s not a daughter? Need I remind you of Harriet?” Sherlock shrugged and rolled his eyes at the taunt. “A shot in the dark never hurt anyone, Watson.”   
“Have you always been this- uh- what’s the word?”   
“Perceptive?”   
“Yeah! It’s really cool to have someone so smart as a friend!”   
“I could say much the same about you John. You’re not as dull as I thought you would be.” “Well I’ll be taking that as a compliment, I guess, haha!”

Sherlock kept walking with his head held high and his eyes faced ahead of him. However, he felt something stir in him. This person had just admitted he actually liked being his friend. I mean, John has made it clear that he’s happy with being his friend and he truly believes that even if it does seem unbelievable. Many of his family member can’t even bear being in the same room as him and if they have to they don’t realise he’s there until he draws attention to himself. They don’t even compliment him for it. He’s just the little Holmes boy no one talks to. He didn’t mind that. But it was the fact they patronised, ridiculed, undermined and underestimated him that irked him the most. 

Yet here he is. Laughing to himself at how astonished John looks as he gawks at his surroundings.

He was definitely strange, John Watson. But he was most certainly interesting.

They arrived at the docks that looked over the lake of Hogwarts. The moon rippled through the lake akin to an old painting of a time long forgotten, perfectly preserved and pristine. A castle looking over a lake framed by trees and in front of the students were a lesser armada of little boats that would lead them to their new home. No portrait that hung in any gallery could compare to the meaning that this towering structure held.

It would mark who they were.

A new generation of Hogwarts students are waiting by the docks of Hogwarts ready for their new life to begin. “Alright children! In each boat, there can be only four of you so choose your partners and once you’ve all chosen, vee vill be setting course for ze castle!”

The pair followed through and chose their vessel of passage. Quite content with the arrangement, they were just about ready to set off; John kept tapping his feet excitedly and Sherlock looked over the vast water ahead, enamoured at the picturesque scene.

That was, until a chubby boy started looking a bit nervous and just happened to catch John’s eye to Sherlock’s incredulous lack of sympathy for others.

“Sherlock? Who’s that on the dock? The, uh, big guy on the left?” He scoffs.   
“I don’t know, I don’t care, what’s his importance?” John shared a look to his cold grey eyes. “Don’t give me that look.”

“Sherlock-“

“No.”

“Just please-“

“Absolutely not.”   
“No one likes being the last kid on his own. If you won’t I will.” Sherlock groaned arrogantly. “So be it. Stamford!” John turned to him. “You know his name?”   
“His last name, not his first. His father is a minor ministry worker. He hasn’t been back to visit his wife and son for nearly a month.” “How’d you find that out? You went there to investigate?” John jested, awaiting the preposterous answer of his companion.   
“Shot in the dark with some eavesdropping, but considering his deflated posture and nervous disposition its likely his father’s not in the picture or is soon to be. He looks up to him, certainly, so having his parents split up- or evidently, the mere prospect of the potential event- is taking its toll.” Stamford approached towards the boat, hands stuffed into his pockets to keep them from their restless fiddling. He was chubby with combed over brown curls (although a few strands kept falling into his face). His round, reddening face sported brown framed glasses and fearful blue eyes. He clambered into the boat and smiled sheepishly at his companions. “Hi, um, I’m Mike. Mike Stam-“   
“Sorry about your dad, Mike. I’m John, John Watson.”   
“How did you-“   
“Don’t fret, I’ll explain in a minute, the one that called you over is Sherlock Holmes.”   
“Greetings.”   
“Well hello to both of you, but how did you know about my dad?!” The pair looked at each other. “You wanna take this one Sherlock? You deduced it, after all.” He rolled his eyes.   
“Very well. I’ve never minded an audience. Your nervous disposition and inwardly crouched posture is indicative of uncertainty with your surroundings but it’s not making friends your worried about. Your father was either not present for the moment in time where your signs of magic developed or he wasn’t in the picture to begin with. You have no idea how to react to this place for you have no further knowledge other than what information could be provided by the faculty member to show you to Diagon Alley. So? Did I get anything wrong?” Mike sputtered but composed himself.   
“Is everyvone ready to embark?!” Whoops and cheers echoed as Sherlock rolled his eyes watching John do much the same.   
“John? Do you fear the possibly terrifying undiscovered beasts of the ocean?” John turned to his friend confused.   
“What do you mean? It depends but I’m gonna say no.”   
“Oh then feel free to look down across the side of the boat.” Out of curiosity, John looked down the boat’s left side and gaped at the size of the massive tentacle gripping the bottom of their boat. “I-Wh-Sherlock what the hell is that?!?”   
“I’ve heard of this. The giant squid of the black lake. It’s in Hogwarts: A History. Truly a fascinating beast.”  
“You have that memorised don’t you?!” Mike interjected to Sherlock’s chagrin. Being interrupted by idiots was something he very truly loathed. However, he decides to humour him whilst John looks on ahead, stunned by his surroundings.   
“I only remember important things. Keeps my brain clear and perfectly readable.”   
“Really? What’s it like?!”   
“Why do you want to know?” Sherlock coldly rebutted with his glare of cold distaste, leaving Mike silent and looking the side in a slump. “Don’t worry about him, he’s better when he knows he can trust you. I should know, he told himself.” John outstretched his hold hand to the slumped but ever jittery boy. “John Watson.” Mike finally cracked a smile before shaking his hand. “Mike Stamford, great to see ya!” He stands in the boat along the side with a wobble before Sherlock pipes up.   
“Just as a warning, I wouldn’t do that I were you. Your centre of gravity could land you in the water. There’s more than just the squid to be afraid of in these waters.”   
Mike slowly inched away from the side of the boat. Sherlock Holmes has a very strange way of looking out for people. Soon, the row boats came to stop at the castle docks and everyone was gawking at that up close view of it. The whole of them, led of course by Gertrude, were taken to the tall entrance of Hogwarts where many generations of witches and wizards have walked before. Gertrude strode to the door and gave three form knocks before the doors swung open into the foyer of Hogwarts castle.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sorting of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

At the entrance of the castle stood a tall witch with greying black hair pulled into a tight bun, she donned shimmering emerald robes and her eyes were framed by round glasses in gold frame.

“Ze first years, Headmistress McGonagall.” Gertrude introduces rather meekly. Though the woman in front of her was rather friendly and warmly looking, she still carried an air of sternness and power in her age. She chuckled warmly, placing a gentle hand on Gertrude’s shoulder. 

“Thank you Mrs Van Dahl. I shall be taking it from here, I should hope you wouldn’t want to miss the feast.” Gertrude nodded then slipped off and out of view of the students through a door echoing with noise. 

“What’s the matter John? You’re pale. Do you have seasickness?”  
“Wh- I- no. Not really. It’s just- this place is so big. I bet you could fit the whole of my house in here.” The stone walls were lit with flickering flaming torches, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. John was sure everyone could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right where Gertrude had vanished to -- the rest of the school must already be here -- but McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Headmistress McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.”

“I’m sure you have your suspicions of where I’ll stand, Minerva.” Everyone spun around to turn to the unfazed Holmes boy. Even John had to turn to Sherlock wide eyed. The headmistress perked her head up at the forgotten usage of her first name. Looking up to the source, she couldn’t help but illicit a smile. She’d been awaiting this for quite some time now. “Hello Mr Holmes. It’s a pleasure to have you, as always. If you would refrain from using my first name in this environment, as much as I know you loathe it, the sentiment will be very much appreciated.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Very well... Minnie.” It was hard to notice but Sherlock could hear the masked giggle. “That... That’s a reasonable compromise, Mr Holmes. I will allow you that privilege. Use it wisely.” Her soft smile was then turned from Sherlock and directed to the students gathered before her. “Ahem, the Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. Before, however, I would like to address something. Regardless of the house you are sorted in, whatever place the house decides for you, it’s a great house to be in regardless. Don’t let old prejudice blight your view of the house. How you represent your house is down to you. Whether you find yourself in green, yellow, blue or red; the hat is never wrong and you will find your place within the house."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on this group of a new age of Hogwarts, something she’d come to cherish and appreciate, before sighing and going back to what she was doing.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Headmistress McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. The tension then dissipated but John swallowed and turned to his already scandalous companion.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked Sherlock, tensely fiddling in his robe pockets.

"Some sort of test, I believe. I don’t recall anything exact. Mycroft says it’s a dull experience, I think it’s best to heed his word. You, likely, have nothing to worry about."

John found that notion extremely comforting to hear.

His heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic yet -- what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived. He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except for those still surprised at Sherlock’s relation to the Headmistress, much to the person in question’s chagrin. John tried hard not to listen to what his head was saying. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take home his SAT results to his family in year six. He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now,Headmistress McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air -- several people behind him screamed.

"What the -- ?"

He gasped. So did most of the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like an old student was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a chance this--"

"Mate, you’ve been saying that since we were first years, name one way Peeves has changed?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years and tapped the pair of student’s shoulders.

None of the first years answered.

"New students!" said one of the students gleefully pointed out, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

A ghost phased in through the wall in monk’s robes and waved to them in greeting.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Headmistress McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Headmistress McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, John got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Sherlock farther in front ofhim, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

John had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting with one seat empty for the Headmistress of course. Headmistress McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, John looked upward and saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. 

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on straight into the heavens.

John quickly looked down again as Headmistress McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. John had the slight inkling that maybe they found it at a dump.

“Maybe we have to try and get a rabbit out of it?” A girl in front whispered to the other girl in front of her. John thought wildly, that seemed the sort of thing -- noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. It seems believable seeing as this was a school of magic. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth -- and the hat began to sing:

“Here we stand, proud and true

Hogwarts is home for all who come through

We stand prouder from the war 

Together we fought hard for the truth

And now I’m proud to introduce myself to the new group of youth 

Nothing is hidden

Nothing is forbidden,

Affix me upon your head and I will tell you

Where you will most fit in.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

No matter where you may go,

No matter where you find your kind

Here is a notion to give you peace of mind

In this ages old castle, thousands walked in your steps

Some sinners, some saints 

But you mustn’t forget

That this is your journey, this is your chance

With gusto and pride, time to make your advance

It’d be best to take advice from yours truly

For I will burn on a pyre before you find asmarter hat than me.”

The hall then erupted in rapturous applause to which it bowed to each of the four tables and then, once more, became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" A boy behind John whispered to someone else. "I'll kill Albert, he was going on about wrestling that damn squid in the lake!"

John smiled weakly as his fiddling persisted insistently. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; he didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Headmistress McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said.. 

“Abernettie, Abel!” A tall gangly boy with a messy mop of black hair bumbled forward to the stool, the hat was then lifted and his eyes were put into darkness. A pause silenced the room before-

“RAVENCLAW!”

A table of blue robes cheered in celebration and welcome as he took his seat at the table. 

"Alcmene, Merid!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Merid scuttled off to sit next to the crowd of cheering yellow donning student.

"Adler, Irene!" 

"Hm, difficult. You’re very complex, young lady. 

“I try to be, keeps things interesting.”

“I think it’d better be... SLYTHERIN!"

The farthest table clapped this time; several Slytherins stood up to shake hands with Irene as she joined them.

"Bernard, Oliver" went to Ravenclaw next, but "Bellamy, Thompson" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; John couldn’t even see him but he was near certain Sherlock was eye rolling at their obnoxious excitement.

"Bixby, Rayna" then became another Slytherin. Perhaps it was John's imagination, after all he'd seen of Slytherin, but he thought they looked like a mysterious and sophisticated lot.

He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been nervous to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because the dread of who may be on the team that chose him was all consuming.

"Frieman, August!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, John noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. “Garrison, Mallory" the sandy-haired girl in the front of the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared her a Gryffindor.

"Gregson, Tobias!"

Tobias swaggered to the stool then jammed the hat eagerly on his head.

"RAVENCLAW!" shouted the hat. John groaned. He needed this to be over. Or at least see somebody familiar up on the stool. Sherlock, Mike or anybody who looked like him right now. The nerves were certainly getting to him now. He couldn’t stop shaking and yet no windows were open. He couldn’t do this. Not now.

To make matters worse, a horrible thought struck John, as horrible thoughts tend to do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train? He’d ask Sherlock but he was too far ahead

When David Gustman the boy on the train a compartment away who apparently had some magic fireworks from his brother, was called, he tripped over on his shoe laces trying to make his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with him. He was sweating buckets when it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Henry ran off and frisbee-d it back to McGonagall amid gales of laughter to give it to "Gyros, Amelia."

She more flounced forward when her name was called and was decided at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

She then went to join her friends at the table of green, looking pleased with herself.

There weren't many people left now. "Harrison"..., "Helmon"..., "Hexman"..., then a pair of twin boys, "Hobbly" and "Hobbly"..., then..., “Holly, Marian” and then, at last --

"Holmes, Sherlock!"

As Sherlock stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall. John couldn’t stop the knot in his stomach if he tried. It was time to see which house his friend would fall to.

"Holmes, did she say?"

"The Sherlock Holmes?"

“You know what they say, don’t you? The only family able to outwit the dark lord unscathed were the Holmes’s.”

“Do you trust him?”

“Not as far as I can spit. He’s too clever. They all are.”

He stepped onto the stool and his eyes went dark under the hat.

_Note: SH_

_It is important to note that my experience with the sorting process was once in a lifetime. As it is a once in a lifetime experience, I should be the once to tell the story for a totally accurate telling with zero exaggeration._

I awoke in my mind palace, a library setting of sorts. A fire was roaring and I was sat upon a large arm chair and next to me was another armchair to my opposite. What sat within it was The Sorting Hat, curiously staring at his surroundings. 

“Oh! Well now, this, um, I- I genuinely can’t say I’ve been in this sort of situation before.” It looked around curiously at its surroundings.

“I would assume so. I find most people painfully unoriginal.”

“Well, young man, when I say you’re gifted I certainly-“

“Enough niceties, what do you think?”

“Pardon?”

“Where do you think I belong?”

“You’re forward.

“I try to be. I don’t like to waste my breath on anything unworthy of my time.”

“You’re proud. Some would say, impertinent. Perhaps, arrogant.”

“They have done. I’m not deaf nor stupid.”

“You have a vast brilliance and potential. You strive for knowledge, a very Ravenclaw attribute.”

“I only retain what I deem useful. They retain all that they know. For a house prided on knowledge and creativity, their brains are incredibly cluttered.”

“How would you know?”

“Family members. It’s a general assumption that I’m unopposed to experimenting with.”

“Well, I like to ask this of all the children I sort, but where would you WANT to go based on preference?”

“I am unopposed. Wherever I may go doesn’t matter, I’ll make enemies anyhow.”

“No friends?”

“I have one. John Watson. I can’t see it changing in any sort of future. Friendship is not an advantage. Besides, he’s fairly normal. I’d say it’d even out the dynamic.”

“Some would say friendship makes a stronger person.”

“Then it depends on the scenario. Now, enough dawdling, where do I belong? As interesting as this may be, it’s awfully dull being stuck here.” 

“Well, if it’s my decision alone...”

“Actually, hold that thought, what makes you think I’m fit for Slytherin?” The hat smiled knowingly in a way that irked Sherlock. He never liked not knowing something. “I shouldn’t be surprised you guessed where I should put you that quickly. Alas, here I am. Now, about your question. Well, I’ve been asked that many times Mr Holmes. I will provide vague answers for it is all that I can give. The path ahead of you is long and fearsome. You will face hardship and triumph tenfold. You will gain and lose friendships but I feel you would learn how to be more of yourself in Slytherin. It’s not a bad house, but just like you, it’s always been-“

“Misunderstood.”

“Exactly, Mr Holmes.“

“Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

“Then waste no more time.”

“SLYTHERIN!” The hat cried and Sherlock was thrown back into reality and he meandered to the celebratory table of green. 

Everyone was so enamoured from the last sorting, no one really took noticed when Hooper’s came up.

Regardless, names were called and children found their new crowds. 

Hoskins, Hutchinson, Ibarra, Irving, Isherwood, Kensworth, Kyllman, Another pair of twins Li-Yao, Martins-Maye, Octman, Olivers-

The names never seemed to stop. This was getting to the point of being truly unbearable. Everything started to tune out like background noise, becoming more muted the more John delved into his head in search of some sort of piece of reality to cling to, some bit of normalcy he could salvage.

He has always hated waiting, he hated waiting because his head won’t shut up. Why doesn’t the waiting just stop? Call him up, sort him or tell him he doesn’t belong here! It’s that simple! He needed this over with! Now! He could go on like this! He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do-

“Watson, John!”

He snapped back into reality to realise he was now at the front of the line with the school’s eyes on him. Hundred or more eyes staring fixated at the boy as he took his seat upon the stool and his vision then faded to black as the hat of Hogwarts decided his fate. 

“Ah yes, John Watson. I heard of you earlier. Sherlock Holmes’s only friend. From what he says, you’re supposed to be interesting.” “Wait, he said that?”

“Basically. He’s taken to you. I’d like to know why. Now, where do you see yourself?” He paused.

“I just- I don’t know.”

“Of course you don’t. Not many do. A lot of famous witches and wizards never truly know. Funnily enough, the boy who lived was almost a Slytherin. Hermione Granger was almost a Ravenclaw. Regardless, it doesn’t matter. After the war, a lot of things changed. For the first time since it’s founding, everyone dropped their house stereotypes. Hufflepuffs weren’t cowardly, pacifistic pushovers. Ravenclaws weren’t know-it-all, stuck up, teacher’s pets. Slytherins weren’t evil, conniving, blood purists. Gryffindors were not all brave, bold and fearless. They were all seen as human. It’s not really about where you belong- it’s who you are deep down. We choose how we define the house chosen for us. Let not the legacy of those came before taint the legacy of tomorrow.” John smiled, calmed slightly by the knowledgeable words of a talking hat. “Well now, do you know where you belong, Mr Watson?”

“No, not really. But...I’m ready. Wherever I go. It’ll be alright, right?”

“That I cannot guarantee.”

“Eh,” John shrugged. “I’m already here, not much else I can do about it. Whatever happens happens. It is what it is.”

“From you I see honesty, hotheadedness, bravery. Many Gryffindor traits.”

“Might run in the family, maybe?”

“Social, highly sensitive, caring. They say Hufflepuffs are the bravest for no emotion is too great or too minute to express.” There was a light pause and mumbling from the hat before he announced to the hall. 

“Think it’d better be... HUFFLEPUFF!” John looked up and sheepishly made his way to the ecstatic crowd of yellow dressed individuals. 

Only a few remained and each went to their chosen house. After all were sorted, McGonagall rolled up her scroll and escorted the old hat away.

John looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The sweets on the train seemed ages ago.

McGonagall had arrived back stood to the hall of new and old students. She was beaming at the all of them, her arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased her more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," she said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. In light of the very recent war, I would like to welcome all of you to Hogwarts. As terrifying as terror is, we proudly stayed persistent and- for what it’s worth- it turned out in our favour. We lost many brave and bright minded souls. Friends. Family. Lovers. Heroes. But now, with a new year and a new age upon us, let’s take this as an opportunity to salute change and honour the fallen. In the words of The Great Albus Dumbledore. ‘Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak!’"

She sat back down at the head of the table. Everybody clapped and cheered. John didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Was he -- a bit mad Dumbledore?" he asked Molly uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Molly airily. "He was a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he was a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, John?"

John's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: glistening roast beef, enormous roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops piled like small mountains, massive whole baked fish dripping with lemon, towers of sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

His parents had never exactly starved John, but he'd never seen so much food he liked on a single table. John had always taken care to appreciate food since his parents couldn’t always cook meals, so seeing this was truly a feast for all the senses. He piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all stunningly delicious.

"Aw, that does look damn good." said a ghost girl in a school uniform sadly, watching John cut up his steak.

"Can't you -- ?"

"I haven't eaten since I died.” said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but you do miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Penelope Rutledge at your service. New ghost of Hufflepuff Dorms."

"I know who you are!" said a student suddenly. "My brothers told me about you -- you were part Pomfrey’s aid!”

“Pomfrey’s aid? Who’s Pomfrey?”

“Oh, when the Battle of Hogwarts broke out, everyone was getting hurt and the nurse Madam Pomfrey could barely keep up. So along with St Mungo’s, some Hogwarts students with healing magic skills stayed behind all the way through the battle of Hogwarts.”

"I would prefer you to call me Penelope or Penny if you-- " the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Andréus Tabbert interrupted.

"Why not? You’re a hero, aren’t you proud?"

Penelope looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the ways she wanted.

"Just because I’m hero, doesn’t mean it was glamorous. Sometimes being a hero isn’t all it’s shown to be. I was ambushed in the dead of night. Rogue death eater. Wasn’t quick enough to fight back." She growled irritably. She seized her left ear and pulled. Her whole head swung off his neck and fell onto her cupped arms as if it was never attached at all. A very successful beheading, magic or not. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Penelope flipped her head back onto her neck, coughed, and said, "So -- new Hufflepuffs! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Hufflepuffs deserve to winning every now and then. Gryffindors had got the cup four years in a row when I was there! As famous as Gryffindors are nowadays, their ego is nothing to sneeze at."

Amidst the laughter and banter of his table, John looked over at the Slytherin table and saw his friend Sherlock sitting there, with blank staring eyes, prodding at his food, and generally unapologetically dissociative. He was right next to a flashy sort of show off who, John was bewildered to see, had an entire section of the table laughing like men from the pub back home after a beer too many.

"How does it feel seeing all the first years?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"You feel ancient, I’ll say that much. You get used to it but man that sucks!" said Penelope half jokingly.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavour you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...

As John helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Molly. "My dad is a Muggle doctor. I suppose that’s why mum was so fascinated. That may also be why mum didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him, really. He took it surprisingly well from what m says."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Declan?" said Sarah.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Declan, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. Uncle Marshall had to push me off the end of Blackpool pier, I nearly drowned -- but I’d say it was worth it! I was eight, mind, so now he’s twice removed. I sort of made a giant water ball surrounding me and that’s how I almost drowned on holiday!” The table laughed at the jokeand John was mildly concerned about his mental well-being. “They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here -- they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Uncle Marshall was so pleased he bought me my cat Kneela, she may be a right beast at times but I do love her. No matter how many pairs of socks she steals from my drawers."

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Headmistress McGonagall got to her feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem -- just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well.”

McGonagall's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of this year’s troublemakers.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. Unless you are related to Mr Potter. Then, while you may have your house points diminished, I should wish that you record your ventures."

John laughed, but he was one of the many who did. Either because of the joke or out of nervousness

"She's not serious?" he muttered to his prefect Baxter Harker.

"Must be," said Baxter, frowning at Minerva. "It was sort of a tradition at Hogwarts every year that something traumatic would happen every year. With the dark lord after Harry Potter’s head, who could blame the teachers? Out of all the things that’ve happened at hogwarts, the property damage caused was certainly new. You’d think people would try and avoid nearly dying but it must be harder than it looks."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried McGonagall. John noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather jovial and excited.

McGonagall gave her wand a little flick, as if she was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said McGonagall, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot, just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finished the song at different times. This was a big point where John really felt like he was at school. It really start led to feel like home. McGonagall conducted their last few lines with her wand and when they had finished, she was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," she said, smiling wide- almost reminiscent. "To quote a felled great man; ‘A magic beyond all we do here!’ And now, bedtime. You must now all be off, First years will be directed by their head of house!"

_Note: JW_

_Now, there’s something to say about what happened when we were first years at Hogwarts. First off, I had no clue on what the hell Hogwarts even was, let alone magical culture in general. I was a half blood with a mum that’d left magic behind to be a nurse. Sherlock was a descendant of an ancient family of magical folk. Plus he had a brother in Hogwarts to give him the know-how, so the bastard always had a leg up on me when it came to basically anything._

_ While my first night was spent bantering and rambling to friends, his was spent...  ~~ being a prick ~~ being authentically Sherlock. So we thought we’d tell both our stories of our first night in the castle  _

_Note: SH_

_I was not that bad. You’re over exaggerative at the best of times but that was ridiculous._

_Note: JW_

_You specifically asked the author to put this in?_


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sorting of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the tall kid with the brown hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see how he looked at everyone? That Holmes kid really fancies himself, I’ll bet."

Whispers followed Sherlock from the moment he left the hall that night as Quinsby led the group to from the hall. People whispering about his heritage, scoffing at his demeanour as the other Slytherin first years passed corridors and staircases, but just normally staring. While Sherlock wished they wouldn't, because he honestly hated gossiping and the amount of voices was irritating, it was something he’d have to deal with for the moment. 

The Slytherin first years followed Quinsby through chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, down corridors, passages and deep descending staircases- all while attempting to ignore the chatter about their housemate. Sherlock's legs were like lead now but only because he was so tired and the consistent amount of exercise he’d done wasn’t helping either . He was too fatigued even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered his name and pointed him out as they passed, or that twice Quinsby led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.

Well, he shouldn’t really be surprised. Holmes manor portraits aren’t too dissimilar. 

Finally they reached a stone wall, deep down in the dungeons of Hogwarts. 

The group halted as the prefect was asked the password.

“Beelzebub. Now, before we go in, two things to note. Firstly, the password changes every fortnight and you will be able to vote once you’ve become acquainted with individuals of your house. Secondly, there is a secret passage that leads straight to the common room. As part of house tradition, first first year to find it gets to choose the common room password for until the next fortnight. You may now, enter.” With a dramatic bow everyone stumbled into their new quarters for their next few years of academia.

The common room before them is a room with greenish lamps and chairs. The entire room felt sophisticated with a distinct feeling of refinement that wasn’t uncomfortable. The room extends partway under the lake, giving the light in the room a green tinge and an almost perfect view of what lay beneath the waters. From the ceilings held chandeliers of enchanted candles that didn’t drip but added a vintage lighting to the place. In front of the pleasantly warm fire places were huge emerald green armchairs at the foot of them were plush fur rugs and ottomans in matching fabric. It is decorated with tapestries featuring the adventures of famous Slytherins through the centuries.

“But, I thought dorms were gender separated? Where do the girls sleep?” Sherlock spared his prefect the teaching.

“That rule was abolished around the 1780’s. Slytherins were just coming up with smarter tactics to contact the opposite sex so eventually someone just undid the gender separation charm after some research.” Someone scoffed. 

“Well of course you’d know that. You must’ve read that somewhere!”

“I did. It’s only use to me was to get a vague idea of who I’d be rooming with.”

“Know-it-all.” Someone jeered from the back. This was the part when Quinsby hid for cover. He’d already met Mycroft. This was going to be horrendous.

Sherlock turned to the source of the noise. A tall and scrawny individual with a pointed noise, black hair, blue eyes and a general air of brattish entitlement. A quality Sherlock and most well meaning people find make a most loathsome individual.

He stepped towards the boy and the crowd of first years stepped aside to clear his way.

“What’s your name?” Sherlock asked, monotone but superior sounding nonetheless. “You saw me being sorted, you know what my name is!”

“I don’t make it a habit to remember the names of people so plain, dull and utterly insignificant.” The boy in the back gasped in humiliated disbelief.

“Elliot Van Grut, if you must-“

“A moment please.” He held a hand to his face which silenced the boy immediately. “Answer me this Elliot. Has he told you?” To Sherlock’s chagrin but unsurprised eye roll, Elliot didn’t have a clue what he was on about. “Very well then, I will have to fill you in. First off, you boorishly brandish your wealth to others you subconsciously deem dull enough to worship you though you have no real value. That’s a sign of entitlement. However, there is something that your father hasn’t told you. At the feast, you were so eager to impress other, You forgot the details of your own elaborate lie to ensure friendship. Your parents aren’t together. You know exactly why and you’re clearly ashamed of it because even the mere mention has your head hung in humiliation. If you wish to remain relevant in the social hierarchy, keep your distance and keep your mouth shut.” 

The way the common room started looking at him, he took this as his cue to make claim of his bed before he caused a bigger scene.

After he was settled, his trunk put away and his belongings in check, he pulled out his latest read he was currently invested in. It technically shouldn’t be in the hands of a first year- given the information- but his mother was smart enough to not let ridiculous age restrictions stunt his learning.

An ancient book of older, advanced potions and poisons known as ‘Bagaimana cara menghilangkan pesaing Anda’. 

A book in Indonesian supposedly written by a secret society of royals who were eager to maintain their standing by any means necessary. 

Midway through chapter seven (‘resep berbasis hewan: penggunaan tingkat lanjut’ - TRANSLATED: animal-based recipes: advanced use), Sherlock was approached by a then taller young man with a bird like appearance. Shiny, pointed black hair, a beak like nose and naturally wide and beady eyes. “Hello there. Couldn’t help but notice your little spectacle upon your entrance. I’m assuming you belong to the Holmes’s .“

“What makes you think you know anything about me? What do you hope to gain from meeting me?” He chuckled.

“To the point as always, though I expect nothing less. I have had the pleasure of meeting your brother.“

“Then I offer my condolences.“

“I am Oswald Van Dahl. I am looking to seek a sort of hierarchy boost.“

“You really think that I could help you gain a boost in the popularity scale? That’s all?“ Sherlock scoffed. “I can tell just about everything that you hide out of fear of being judged. Your mother is the groundskeeper correct? Everyone knows that and it’s why you’re teased so often. You were brought up in a doting household but never taught you to defend for yourself. This is exactly why you only threaten your bullies and never act against them, seems likely that you get others to do that part. Either you don’t know how or you’re scared what the repercussions will do to your mother. Speaking of, does she know?“ Before Oswald could sputter out any sort of reply, Sherlock didn’t even spare him the chance. “No one can tell but you just restyled your hair recently it’s still wet and doesn’t have a matte finish. Your hands are dappled with concealer that doesn’t match the palms which are naturally a brighter colour from the rest of your hand. And while you may suffer from a bone deformity in your left leg, which I’m assuming you’re going to physical therapy for, This time that’s not where the limping is coming from is it?”

In a huff, Oswald stormed off. Red in the face, for many reasons that no genius needs to iterate. 

Turning back to his book, Sherlock read and mentally stored information to investigate later. When going into this state, it was common for him to lose track of time. He rubbed his eyes which had began to sting a bit and found he was on chapter fifteen, two chapters away from finishing. Letters appeared in the air, grabbing Sherlock’s attention.

‘You need to keep better track of time, brother mine.’

“I don’t need-“

Mycroft held his finger to his lips and gestured around the room indicating Sherlock’s sleeping dorm mates before he vaguely gestured for Sherlock to retrieve his wand.

Sherlock tolled his eyes and scribbled out his response.

‘Don’t patronise me.’

He glared at Mycroft who wrote back.

‘For now I’ll have to. Mum insists on it.’

Mycroft threw Sherlock an equally discontented look.

‘Is there a reason why you can’t just lie to her?’ Sherlock looked on uninterestedly at Mycroft.

‘Listen here, I don’t care for this as much or maybe more than you. However you see it, we are unequivocally blood related therefore I’m obligated to keep you alive for as long as my education continues here as far as mother is concerned. I won’t coddle you, fret not, you may do as you will. I only ask that you either keep your mischief to a minimum or try and avoid being caught.’

Sherlock tolled his eyes. ‘Is that all Mycroft?’

Mycroft pauses contemplatively.

‘Mummy wants an owl on how you’re settling in.’

‘Do I have to send it immediately?’

‘I would give two days before she says it’s an immediate order.’

‘Very well. Goodnight Mycroft.’

‘Goodnight Sherlock. The restricted section is free to look through. Be wary though, some books have sentience.’

‘Fair enough. Thank you.’

Mycroft swiftly turned on his heel and sauntered to bed as Sherlock placed his book down. He listened carefully for the sounds of his brother’s footsteps and the bed springs. 

With a creak and click of a lamp, Mycroft had gone to sleep or at the very least too far away to stop Sherlock from leaving the common room without making a scene. 

“Finally,” Sherlock mutters into the empty hall “thought I’d die of boredom before those idiots and Mycroft ever go to sleep! Now,” his barefooted steps remained practically soundless in the cold stone halls “let’s hope Mycroft was right about that restricted section.”


	10. Chapter 10

The Hufflepuff first years followed Baxter through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and passed groups walking towards the array of marble staircases. 

John's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Baxter led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They wound behind corners in a trudging group, yawning and dragging their feet, and John was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Baxter took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Baxter whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves -- show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barked Baxter.

Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on some boy’shead. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"You’ll want to watch out for Peeves," said Baxter groaned, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At last, they came to a stop at a still life. Baxter led the group to a recess on the right of the corridor stacked with barrels. The first years looked around confused.

"Hey, um, what’s the password?" Molly said. “I’d like to get inside sooner or later.” Groaned a drowsy voice near the back. 

“Well, you’ll get what you want. Watch this. Closely.”

Baxter tapped on the barrel two from the bottom and the middle of the second row to reveal a sloping, passage with sprawling flora in the walls that travelled upwards a little way until a cosy, round, low-ceilinged room was revealed, reminiscent of a badger’s den. The room is decorated in the cheerful, bee-like colours of yellow and black, emphasised by the use of highly polished, honey-coloured wood for the tables and the round doors which lead to the boys’ and girls’ dormitories. They scrambled through their respective door -- some poor lad needed a leg up after being almost trampled by his new school mates-- and found themselves in the Hufflepuff common room, furnished with comfortable wooden bedsteads, all covered in patchwork quilts. The room smelt like warmth, home and oddly of seasonal spices like cinnamon and nutmeg. Their trunks had already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

"Great food, isn't it?" Some tired blond muttered to nobody in particular through the fatigue.

"Get off, Kneela! She's chewing my sheets!" Declan proclaimed in exasperated outrage. 

“Just feed her some tuna, grab an extra blanket and she should sleep like a baby.” John inputted to which Declan responded with a hum of curiosity.

“You have a cat Watson? Seem to be smart with the like.”

“No, um, well, do street cats count? Bunch of them come down my house now and again. Mum’s precious about them and she raised a cat caretaker ‘cause of it.” He tiredly joked. The rest laughed and joked throughout the night before they all felt too weighted by drowsiness to talk. However, they got to learn a bit about each of their own strange accidental magic experiences. Otto Ebberson accidentally freed an octopus when he went to the aquarium and subsequently flooding the whole block as his first act of accidental magic, Corey Hudley accidentally turned his class gerbil into a tiny watermelon that didn’t wear off until he took it to school- although it supposedly stayed a weird greenish hue, Declan’s cat is technically an outlaw because it’s scratched out many a tire from his neighbour’s car and she’s been getting away with it thanks to Declan’s accidental magical mishaps and John retold his story of tree arson.

Eventually they all decided to call it a night and most fell asleep under the warmth of cotton sheets and homely quilts, warm from head to toe.

Perhaps John had eaten a bit too much, because he had a very strange dream. He was outside of a strange dream like landscape with towering buildings surrounding him. There was a ringing coming from his pocket, a phone. He picked it up and answered.

“Hello? Who is this?” Over the phone, he heard crying. Shaking, stuttering crying. Someone was going to get hurt. He almost didn’t believe who’s voice came from the phone. 

“J-John. It’s me. I’m sorry. I have to do this. It’s the only way.”

“S-Sherlock? Where are you? What’s going-“

“You were the closest friend I ever had. I don’t want to do this. But I must. This is an adventure I have to do alone. I won’t see you hurt by my hand again. Goodbye.” John then looked up and saw Sherlock atop the roof of a building. 

“Sherlock? What are you doing?”

He watched his friend toss his phone aside and step to the ledge.

“Sherlock, don’t do this.” Voices started to echo everywhere around him. ‘Save him.’ 

‘You’re John Watson.’ ‘The Machine’s Only Friend.’ ‘He’s your monster.’ ‘Save him.’ ‘Save him.’ ‘Save him.’ ‘Save him.’ 

“YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO US! TO ME!”

An endless cacophony of voices started chanting for John to save Sherlock. Yet he found he couldn’t move. He was forced to watch as Sherlock fell from his perch atop the roof in almost slow motion. 

Then he felt whatever restrained him to the ground let go but he didn’t get very far. The dream was soon to end. He turned around for a split second and in his eyes he quickly caught the view of a blonde woman holding a baby in a blue cardigan and a girl no older than Sherlock probably with shoulder length hair and a white dress.

He sat up and gasped for air, like his dream was going to drown him alive. He gripped the bed sheets tight in a futile fit to stop his shaking, sweating hands. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He had lost his appetite for sleep. He rummaged through his trunk to find a watch. 

2:43 AM.

He needed some air.

Or just... some time away from this place.

He swung his bed over the bed and quietly tiptoed out of the common room in a carefully practiced manner.

Out he went from his common room and into the wonderful life of Hogwarts castle at nightfall.


End file.
